The Monsters Are as Real as You and Me
by RavennaBlaise
Summary: The imagination of a child is wild and frightful, and more powerful than we could ever conceive. Christopher is a young boy with a crippling sense of automatonophobia; or, a fear of faux sentient beings. He is particularly haunted by the animatronics of Freddy Fazzbear's Pizzeria: the local Chucky E. Cheese's as it were. But perhaps these fears are not unfounded…
1. 1985

" _Welcome to Fazzbear Entertainment! Home of Freddy Fazzbear and friends! Fun for the whole family! Enjoy our array of arcade games while chowing down on an extra-large pizza. Sing and dance along with Fredbear, Bonnie, and Chica –pose for a family photograph with Foxy in Pirate's Cove! And for our future scientists out there, build your OWN animatronic in the kids' corner! It's fun for the whole family! Stop on by today-"_

Dad switched off the radio as the car rolled to a stop at the light. He glanced at the backseat in the rearview mirror where his two youngest children sat fighting as usual. Christopher was too busy pretending not to touch his older sister Michelle to notice his father's exasperated stare.

" _Stop_ it," Michelle whined. She tried futilely to smack her brother with her Foxy plushie. The toy was already badly abused –the head lulled to one side where the stitching had come loose, and his fur was crusted in a few places -which made it the perfect weapon for fending off her icky brother.

"I'm not _doing_ anything," Chris mimicked as he warded off blows with one hand, and continued to reach for her hair with the other.

"Chris, leave your sister alone."

Both children turned around to meet their father's gaze, Chris hung his head in defeat while Michelle smiled smugly. She hugged Foxy tightlyto her chest, nuzzling his head with her nose for a job well done.

The light turned green, and the car began to smoothly accelerate pulling into the entrance of a well manicured suburb. Chris turned to the window for a bit, counting the houses that went by as they drew closer to their own. Growing bored, he decided to torment 'Chellie some more. He snuck a glance at the front seat, only to see his father's gaze directed at him. He turned back to the window and rested his head against the glass.

"How was school, Chris?" Dad asked monotone.

"Fine," Chris grumbled. "I had to take a Math test today. I don't like Math…"

"I do!" Michelle piped up. "I know my times tables."

"Math is stupid," Chris muttered.

"Somebody's grumpy," Dad chuckled, "the horror of being a second grader…"

Chris yawned in response. Getting nowhere with his son –who was undoubtedly just pouting at his ruined fun –Dad turned to his daughter next.

" At least you're in a good mood," he mused. "Are you excited for your birthday, 'Chelli?"

"Yes," she giggled. "I can't wait to be ten. I'm going to be so _old."_

Dad burst out laughing. "Okay, sure," he chuckled. "Are you ready for your party?"

"I LOVE Freddy Fazzbear's!" Foxy flopped through the air in enthusiasm.

In the seat opposite, Chris' frown deepened. He never particularly cared for Freddy Fazzbear's Pizzeria. He and his family had been once or twice before, and it seemed by popular request they were going back again. Well, by his sister's request: and she was the princess. Chris enjoyed some parts of the restaurant. He liked the food. He liked the arcade games; and, he thought the waitresses were really friendly. But he didn't like the animatronics. He didn't like how big they were. He didn't like how jerkily they moved. He certainly didn't like how they stared at him with their bulbous, unblinking eyes.

Every time they went, a new plushie seemed to follow them home. Each of the character's plushie could be won if you had enough tickets from the arcade. Currently, Michelle had Foxy and Chica. Chris had reluctantly gotten Bonnie –he seemed the least creepy, and kind of reminded Chris of Peter Cotton Tail with a guitar: guitars were cool. Chris' older brother, Allen, had a Freddy plushie that he gave to Chris a couple of months ago.

"Plushies are for babies," Allen scoffed as he tossed the plushie to Chris who sat on his bed. "Here, baby."

Chris hadn't much cared for the toy or the insult, but he was used to it by now. Allen was thirteen: he ruled the roost as far as Chris and 'Chelli were concerned.

The rumbling screech of the garage door brought Chris back to reality. His sister was still chattering away about how _mature_ she was going to be as a ten year old as they hopped out of the car and headed into the house. Chris paused in the kitchen and looked down the far hallway to his parent's bedroom. The door was still closed which meant Mom was still asleep. She was a night nurse, but sometimes Chris wished she was home at night.

"Go wash up kids," Dad said. "I'm going to run to Wally World, and then pick your brother up from football –'Chelli turn the TV down. Make sure your mother's up by 4."

'Chelli let out a sigh as she lowered the volume on ThunderCats. Sometimes tip-toeing around Mom was a real pain. Chris padded softly over to his room to change out of his school clothes. He opened the warily opened the door, all the while keeping his eyes locked on the stuffed bear sitting on the corner shelf. Allen once told him that toys can come to life when you're not looking. Chris didn't want to risk finding out if it was true or not.


	2. Tomorrow Is Another Day

It was Saturday. Normally Chris would revel in the much needed break. Saturday meant sleeping in late, waking up to eat cereal, and reading the funny pages. Garfield was his favorite. Garfield wasn't afraid of anything…except maybe an empty lasagna dish.

But today was different. Today was his sister's 10th birthday. Today they were going back to Freddy Fazzbear's Pizzeria. Chris felt his stomach lurch as he stood in the parking lot, clasping his mother's hand while Dad and Allen unloaded the presents from the car, and 'Chelli danced dizzying circles around the pair.

"First, I'm gunna play the ski balls, and then I'm gunna do the hungry hippos game," she spurted. "And then I wanna see Foxy, and play in the Cove, and-"

"Would you stop flailing around?" Allen snapped. " I'm going to drop your presents if run into me one more time, Stupid."

'Chelli stopped in her tracks, wheeled around and planted her hands firmly on her hips. " _You're stupid,"_ she spat.

"No: you are."

"Am not!"

"Are too, Stupid."

"No, you're stupid, Butthead-"

" Knock it off, both of you," Dad commanded as he emerged from the trunk. "Jean, can you close the trunk?"

Mom maneuvered past the two feuding siblings with Chris close in tow. He felt much safer near her rather than his brother or sister at the moment. The family made their way to the entrance of the restaurant, with 'Chelli leading the pack. It was a warm, sunny day –not a cloud in the sky –but Chris felt a cold chill run down his spine as he stepped off the blacktop and onto the front curb.

Chris could clearly hear the shrieks and peals of laughter from children as 'Chelli heaved open the door. She charged right up to the hostess station, where a young woman no older than 23 stood organizing menus. The woman had on a bright blue and pink stripped baseball cap that covered most of her auburn hair which was tied in a messy knot at the nap of her neck. She wore a matching blue polo with comically large, pink suspenders attached to her black pants. Pinned to the left suspender was a bright orange tag with some writing and the name Megan printed in big, black letters. As the family approached, she put down the menus.

"Hi, welcome to Freddy Fazzbear's," she said sweetly with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "How many for the buffet today?"

"We're actually here for the party we reserved," Mom answered.

"Okay, what's the name?"

" Michelle," 'Chelli all but screamed, trying to pull herself up to see over the counter.

"Okay… Michelle," Megan said softly. "Ah, we have your table set up right over here. Follow me, please."

She led them from the hostess station through the main party room to the table. Chris kept his eyes trained on the black and white checkered floor, hanging on tightly to his mother for guidance. He could see hues of blue, red, and yellow trailing across the floor as the stage lights rotated in time with the campy, cheery tune playing overhead. He felt his mother slowing and glanced up briefly to see his father laying the presents on a couple of picnic tables covered in a red and white checked cloth. Chris jerked his head briefly to the right as he felt his sister whiz past him. She shouted something Chris didn't register as she took off toward the main stage and veered towards Pirate Cove.

Before he could stop himself, Chris felt a strong, almost morbid urge to take a peek at the stage. He swallowed thickly as his eyes adjusted against the bright lights. On the stage stood two animatronics. Fredbear was front and center. His mouth repeatedly hinged open, closed as a deep, melancholy mechanical laugh echoed into his plastic microphone. His yellow, bulky center swayed in opposition from his head which swiveled side to side in time with the music: his heavy lidded eyes scanning the room. His tiny top hat teetered precariously atop his head with every rotation. To his right stood Bonnie, strumming his guitar, and swaying left and right in time with the music. His right ear sat crooked, and his nose was a bit too square for a rabbit. In contrast to Fredbear, his wide eyes stared off into the distance almost like he was looking at Chris.

Chris felt dizzy. He stared for a minute longer at Bonnie's gaze trying desperately to look away. Finally, he was able to turn his head back toward the entrance. He froze.

Not two yards away stood Chica and a male employee surrounded by a group of excited children. Chris could hear the chicken's gears whine as she bent forward to place a pink-frosted cupcake in front of a little boy while the rest of his party began singing "Happy Birthday." The bird's beak hung ajar as she stood up, and a small set of gears, and a voicebox, could be seen in the back of her throat. Her left yellow eyelid was almost closed, and the eye lulled lazily in the socket. Her frilly apron read, "Let's Eat."

 _Let's Leave,_ Chris thought. He remained paralyzed, looking up at Chica. His mouth was dry, his palms sweaty, the room was spinning, and he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. He was briefly aware that Mom was calling his name. He felt something squeeze his hand. Suddenly, Mom appeared in his field of view.

"Chris, honey? Do you want to go say hi?" she asked with a concerned smile. Chris shook his head so fast, he might have snapped his neck. "Well… okay. Your sister wants me to come see the Kids' Corner with her. Are you going to be okay here with your brother?" He stared at her shoes and nodded weakly. "Okay, I love you." She gave him a quick peck on the forehead.

"I know you're scared, but your sister appreciates this; just remember, tomorrow is another day," Mom whispered.


	3. Do You Love Me?

Mom stood and left Chris at the table with his brother to guard the presents. In the distance, he could see his sister excitedly tugging at Dad's hand and flagging down Mom. He managed a weak smile, admiring his sister's courage. He glanced back to where Chica had stood. The bird and her handler were moving further back into the restaurant, towards an area labeled EMPLOYEES ONLY. Chris let out a shaky breathe of relief.

He sat down keeping his back to the wall of presents and the rest of the party room in his field of view.

" _Avast ye matey_ ," a gravelly voice breathed in Chris' ear, "or ye booty y'find upon me HOOK."

A silver hook appeared in front of his nose. _Foxy, it's Foxy_ , Chris surmised. A scream died in his throat as the tip of the hook brushed the tip of his nose. Tears threatened to fall. A rancorous laugh echoed around him.

 _Please no._

"You're such a baby, Chris." The arm attached to the hook slowly came into focus. Chris' eyes tracked from the hook, to the arm, to his brother's ruddy face, scrunched up in laughter. The realization that Allen had played a rather cruel trick on him stung: Chris blushed furiously, wiping away a few stray tears.

 _Sometimes I wish he'd just go away_.

"Are you seriously crying?" Allen asked skeptically.

"It's…not… funny," Chris gulped between breathes, "don't. do. _that."_

" I think it's hilarious. You should be the poster child for queen of the pussies-"

"Don't say that: that's a bad word."

"What are you going to do," Allen taunted, "tell Dad? I'm already in the hole, wuss. In fact, go ahead: tell on me. The longer I'm grounded, the more time I get to spend with _you_."

Allen leaned in towards Chris making kissy sounds. Chris threw an elbow into his brother's ribs.

"Get off me," he barked. "Go snuggle up to Foxy. I know you want to."

Allen sneered, "No, this place is lame. I'd rather go for grade-A entertainment: torturing you."

He picked Chris up by the front of his shirt. His brother was much bigger than himself; and, Chris knew if Allen got him into a headlock, he would never get free.

 _He might even try to take me to Foxy._

Chris swung wildly at Allen's face. Not expecting the assault, Allen released him. Reaching up, he felt faint scratch marks on his cheek. A snarl formed on his lips, and he lunged for Chris. Chris dropped to the floor, scurried under the table, and came out on the other side. Unfortunately, Allen had the advantage of longer legs, and he snatched Chris by the shirt collar. He wheeled Chris around and slugged him square on the nose. Chris stumbled. Everything was fuzzy.

"Allen."

Dad's voice carried through the party room. Allen paused mid-punch to see his father storming over to him, his mother and sister not far behind. Dad reached the pair and yanked Allen off of Chris who sat dazed on the floor, holding his injured nose.

"What the hell is the matter with you," Dad demanded. "You have ruined, your sister's birthday. Go sit in the car-"

"But Dad," Allen cut in.

"I don't want to hear it. Go. There is no excuse for hitting your brother. You better pray to God his nose isn't broken. If it is, your allowance is going to be paying for his medical bills."

"Whatever, this party is lame anyway." Allen stuffed his hands in his pockets and shuffled his way out of the restaurant.

Meanwhile, Mom was inspecting Chris. She gently felt his rapidly swelling nose, and tilted his head back slightly to check for any blood.

"He'll be okay," she informed Dad, "it's a little bruised, but it's not broken."

She looked around for the nearest employee. At that moment, a yellow variation of Bonnie had just come shuffling out of the EMPLOYEES ONLY AREA. It seemed unsure where to go, and did a kind of shuffle dance as it scanned the room. Spotting the scene that was unfolding at Chris' table, it meandered over. It stopped in front of Chris and Mom. Chris stiffened. It awkwardly placed a paw in its mouth and pulled down on the mask. The teeth parted slightly to reveal the jaw line of an unshaven man.

"Is that kid OK, ma'am?" he ground out.

"He got into a little fight with his brother," Mom replied. "Is there any way we can get some ice?"

"Yeah. No problem."

The paw released the jaw, and it sprang closed. Yellow Bonnie turned and shuffled back into the restricted area. Chris warily watched the bunny retreat.

For the next few minutes, the family sat patiently waiting for ice and watching 'Chelli tear into her presents. Unsurprisingly, her favorite was a miniaturized model kit of the animatronic in Kids' Corner. Chris thought it looked much less scary that small. The box cover showed the animatronic which looked like a female version of Foxy complete with a purple and pink bow.

Soon the woman who had greeted them –Megan, if Chris remembered correctly –returned with a bag of ice and a stuffed bear tucked under her arm. She squatted down in front of Chris.

"Here you go sweety," she cooed. "Here's the ice, _and_ here's a plush Fredbear. He's going to make it feel all better."

"What do we say, Chris?"

"Thank you," he muttered.

She handed Chris the plush, who took it reluctantly. Its yellow fur felt soft and its black eyes shined brightly. Megan reached out and gave the purple nose a squeeze. The tiny bear let out a honk. Chris smiled softly.

 _This one's not so bad. He's cute and soft._

Chris did feel better. He felt safer.

"Do you like your new plush, Chris?" Mom asked.

"I love him."


	4. If You Keep Drinking (Interlude)

Yellow Bonnie lumbered back to the employee's lounge. _Damn suit's like an oven_ , he cursed. The kid needed ice, he'll go get ice. You know what goes good with ice? A drink. And, a cigarette.

He reached the employee's lounge and fumbled with the door knob. Stupid gloves. He settled for banging on the door. Nothing. He tried again, louder this time. He heard muffled sound of a chair scrape against the floor. They're in there. He pounded once more on the door.

The door flew open. "Hey, this is employees only—Jack. What did ya' forget to take a piss before suiting up?" Megan stood in the doorframe, hand on her hip and a mouthful of sandwich.

Jack rolled his eyes. _Damn teenagers._ He didn't even bother to pull his mask off as he addressed her. The layer of metal mesh made it easier to look at her ugly mug.

" There's some kid with a busted nose," he said, his voice severely muffled by the mask, "I figured somebody better go take a look at him before we get sued. Megan?" He gestured for her to go.

He sauntered into the cramped space and sat down at the lone table, kicking his clawed, bunny feet up in the chair Megan was previously occupying. Megan closed the door and followed him back.

"I'm on lunch break," she pouted. She grabbed hold of the back of her chair, and ripped it out from under Jack's feet. They fell to the floor with a loud clang. Jack scowled behind his mask. "In case you couldn't tell," Megan smirked. "Make Tom go do it."

"I'm not getting Tom," Jack grumbled. He maneuvered his right paw between his knees, using them as leverage to help pull the glove off. He gave a slight tug. A faint pop and mechanical hiss followed as the glove dislocated from the wrist joint, and hung distended from two metal hinges which allowed Jack full mobility of his hand again. He reached up to the neck joint and popped the bracket on each side. Using both hands, he carefully twisted the rabbit head to the right until he heard another pop. He then lifted the detached mask off of his head and placed it on the table. He stood, shimmed around Megan to get to the fridge, and pulled out a water bottle. He squeezed back behind Megan and settled himself on the ratty, brown couch nestled in the corner behind the door.

"If I get Tom, he's gunna make me go back out there," Jack explained. He took a lengthy drink from his bottle.

"Water good?" Megan asked sarcastically.

Jack grinned, "You know it."

The door swung open colliding with Jack's shoulder causing him to spill some liquid down his front. Megan repressed a snicker. The newcomer was dressed in black slacks and the same bright blue polo sans suspenders. His rusty hair was cropped short, and he wore his authority in the form of a concerned frown. He caught sight of the abandoned Bonnie head on the table, and peered around the door with a sigh.

"Jack," he said, "One, you're supposed to be on the floor. Two, how many times do I have to tell you not to eat or drink in the suits-" He paused to swipe Jack's water bottle. "-And three, this better not be vodka."

"Scouts' honor, boss," Jack deadpanned.

"What are you doing back here, Jack? Your shift just started."

"Relax, Tom. I'm doing my job. Some kid got injured, and I came back here to tell Megan to take care of it. But she's giving me lip. _I_ can't do it." He waved the distended paw around as evidence.

"Clearly, you're not capable of much," Tom retorted. He picked up Bonnie's head. "Put this back on and go do your job. And stop eating and drinking in this suit. The configuration of the suit is very delicate. If you keep getting crumbs and liquid in there it's going to malfunction. Then I have to explain to both the paramedics and corporate why we're scraping your innards out of this suit."

"That's just fucked up. I swear to God, Tom: you're too paranoid."

"You're swearing to the air my friend. And it just happens to be the air I breath. So stop mucking it up with your cigarette breath, and go do your job. End of discussion."

Tom thrust the head at Jack who took it begrudgingly and shuffled back out towards the party room. Tom turned to Megan. She quickly returned to her sandwich trying to hide a satisfied smirk.

"Megan, I'm going to need you to cut your break a minute short, and run some ice to the customer," Tom asked. "I'd do it myself, but I've got training manuals to finish up…hoping to hire some employees who actually give a shit about their jobs."

Megan gave an awkwardly terse smile in agreement.

"Oh, and when you go out there…" Tom motioned for her to wait. He left and returned with a plush Fredbear. "Here," he said handing it to Megan, "give this to him. We got an extra shipment, and it will probably make him feel better."


	5. 1987

" _Then-in my childhood, in the dawn_

 _Of a most stormy life- was drawn…"_

 _"From the thunder and the storm,_

 _And the cloud that took the form_

 _(When the rest of Heaven was blue)_

 _Of a demon in my view." –Edgar Allan Poe_

Life never follows a steady path. It'll cut the strings on your favorite kite as it flutters in the breeze; and, then stomp upon it when it falls to the ground. And, if you're lucky, life will present you with a new kite, a prettier one. If you're lucky, it won't be riddled with holes.

But even with a kite, tattered and worn, you can make it fly high in the sky –with the right amount of elbow grease and duct tape.

Unfortunately, at 9 years old Chris wasn't privy to the fickle nature of fate. So when Mom left the house in the middle of the night with 'Chelli in tow, Chris gave it the briefest of thoughts. When Mom didn't return the next morning, he became suspicious. When she hadn't returned in three days, Chris was worried. Later when his father picked him up from school later that day, Chris finally gathered up the courage to ask what was on his mind.

"Where's Mom," he asked in a small voice, "Where did she go with 'Chelli?"

Dad's eyes looked bloodshot and glazed. He slurred, "She's gone."

"Gone where?"

"I don't know."

"…Why-"

"Dammit, Chris. I don't know," Dad swore, "No more questions."

Chris shuddered at his father's tone. Something wasn't right, but it was clear he wasn't going to get the real answer. He spent the rest of the car ride in quiet contemplation. His 10th birthday was Friday. Would Mom be there to celebrate with them? Would they even have a party this year? His father hadn't made mention of any party; and, judging by the deep frown on Dad's face, it wasn't a good time to bring it up.

When they got home, Chris headed to his room to change. He paused at his sister's bedroom. Everything was pink from the accent wall, to the bedspread, to the rug –everything. Sitting on her bed was a mound plushies. Her model toy kit she had gotten two years ago lay on the floor in pieces. The eyes stared lazily at Chris, and he gave a small shudder. Looking at 'Chelli's room, an uneasy feeling continued to gnaw at him. _She would never leave her toys behind… why did you run away?_

He looked once more at her Chica and Foxy plushies. Some childish part of him thought they might get lonely at night without his sister. He walked over to the bed and plucked them out of the pile. Some of Foxy's stuffing fell out of the neck.

Chris brought the pair back to his room and placed them on the shelf next to Allen's old Freddy plush. He didn't believe they would come to life anymore. He was going to be ten. He was too _old_ for the nonsense Allen used to feed him. Chris turned back to his bed where the yellow Fredbear plush sat. He climbed on the bed and hugged it tight. His left ear still smelt like peaches…

A year ago, Chris had a violent bout of the stomach flu. Mom spent the first few nights sleeping in a chair next to him checking his temperature and monitoring his fluid intake. One night she had left a glass of peach juice next to the bed; and, as Chris tossed and turn, Fredbear took a dive headfirst into the glass. He had been washed several times since, but the smell remained.

Suddenly, he heard a door slam followed by the heavy footfall of his older brother. Chris listened with baited breath to see where he was heading. The footsteps grew closer. _Please don't come in, please don't come in._

"Hey, jerkweed," Allen bellowed through the closed door, "Dad brought home burgers."

Without waiting for a reply, Allen thudded off. Chris waited until he heard the bedroom door close to get off the bed and head to the kitchen. When he arrived, his dad had already dug into his own burger. Two bags of fast food remained for Chris and Allen. Chris sat down at the table, cautiously observing his father's mood. Dad caught his eye and gave a forced smile. Apparently their earlier conversation was forgotten.

Another slam got their attention, and Allen came barreling to the table. He ripped open his own bag, wolfing down the double cheeseburger at an alarming rate. Dad gave him a disgusted look, but it was lost on the ravenous teen.

"So, Chris," Dad started, "Your birthday is Friday. What do you want to do?"

Chris sat silent for a moment. He didn't know what he wanted to do. Normally Mom helped plan a party or a trip of some sort. Maybe they could do the aquarium this year since they did the zoo last year. Really what he wanted most of all was to be with Mom and 'Chelli.

"I was thinking you might like to go to the Pizzeria," Dad continued. Allen let out an audible groan and rolled his eyes. "You know, since it's a _family tradition_." The last comment was directed at Allen, who's only response was to shove more fries in his mouth.

Chris didn't really want to go back there. They hadn't returned since 'Chelli's birthday two years ago. He had no desire to be near the animatronics. He _did_ like the arcade. It wasn't his ideal birthday. _'Chelli liked it so much, maybe she'll want to come. And Mom would have to let her come, wouldn't she? And then we'd be together again, even if for a day._

Maybe, just maybe it would be okay.

"Okay," Chris agreed quietly. Dad gave a satisfied smile. Chris swallowed the last of his burger and chose his next words carefully. "Can Mom and 'Chelli come too?"

Dad paused. He diverted his eyes down toward the table. He seemed to be searching for something to say. Chris thought he saw tears welling up in his eyes.

"I don't think so, Chris," Dad said. "In fact, I don't think Mom is coming back for a long time. It's getting late. Why don't you two go do your homework?"

Chris looked at Allen who was unusually quiet. Allen had a strange look in his eye; it was his typically steely glare, but something else shown through. Sadness, perhaps? Chris wasn't sure; it was unsettling. Allen must know something he didn't. Even more upsetting was his father's attitude toward his mother's disappearance.

Both boys got up from the table and headed back to their rooms. Rather than stopping at his own, Chris followed Allen into his room.

"Hey, this is a nerd-free zone," Allen said putting a hand up, "Get out."

"You know what's going on don't you?" Chris demanded.

Allen sighed, "Listen, kid. Don't worry about it. They're fine. Probably better off than we are."

"But where'd they go?"

"I don't know; they left."

"Why?"

"I don't know... heard her saying something about a divorce."

 _Divorce_. The words hit Chris like a slap. It couldn't be real. Not his parents. Not his family. Not him. What would he do if they got a divorce? Would he see Mom again? Where would he live? So many questions raced through his mind.

"You're lying," he squeaked.

"Yeah, sure. Okay. Mom just bails in the middle of the night and everything is hunky-dory."

"She didn't _bail_!"

"She did too, brat. Now get out of my room!" Allen grabbed Chris by the arm and started leading him down the hall. Chris sputtered and squirmed, but he was crying too hard to put up a fight.

"You're lying. You're lying. You're lying," he repeated over and over as Allen dragged him down the hall and into his room. Allen threw Chris into his room pulling the door closed before Chris could get up and follow him out again. Chris ran to the door and tried to pull it open; Allen held it closed from the other side. Chris tugged furiously and began kicking at the door.

"Let me out! You're lying; let me _out_ ," he screamed.

He stumbled away from the door sobbing. His back hit the shelf full of toys. He turned, grabbed Foxy and hurled him at the door. Chris missed his target, and the plush caught the wooden bedpost instead. The fox's stitching finally gave: his body landed near the door, and his head rolled under the bed.

Chris crawled to his bed, clutching Fredbear to his chest, and sobbing into the pillow. His mother's words echoed in his head as he fell into a fitful sleep that night:

 _Tomorrow is another day._


	6. Of Brats and Ruffians

Chris awoke stiff the next morning. Fredbear was sandwiched between his chest and the bed, his fur stained with tears, snot, and drool. Chris sat up groggily, faintly aware that he had to get ready for school. He didn't want to go. Maybe he could fake a cold. He could hear the sound of a running shower in the distance. He stood slowly and shuffled over to the door, dragging Fredbear along by his foot.

Chris stepped out into the hallway. Something was off. Normally, Dad left either the kitchen or living room light for the kids while he was getting ready. Normally he left a skillet of eggs and a few pieces of toast for them to nibble on before school. But all the lights were off. He could smell the eggs but, why was it so dark?

 _You're 10 years old. You're too old for this._

Chris continued to stumble toward the kitchen until he heard a loud _thump_ come from the living room. He peered into the darkness. There was nothing there. He continued shuffling to the kitchen determined to get to that light switch.

He heard another _thump_. There on the living room floor was a brownish lump. Against his better judgment, Chris moved closer to inspect it. It was Foxy's head: the one beady, black eye glistened in the darkness. How? Last time he saw it –it was under his bed.

 _They come to life at night you know_.

He felt a familiar rising panic: his heart in his throat. He started to back out slowly when something grabbed him from behind.

Chris lurched forward and took a tumble. He dropped Fredbear, and fell flat on his face. He reached around for Fredbear: soft fur met his finger tips. Closing his hand fast around the object, he held it tight to his chest and curled into a ball. The lights flipped on. Chris lay stunned, embarrassed, and above all terrified. As the ringing in his ears subsided, he recognized his brother's snicker.

 _Fuck you, Allen. I wish you never existed._

The world slowly came into focus and his eyes adjusted to the new found light source. Looking down, he realized he wasn't clutching Fredbear at all: it was Foxy.

"Wanna give him a kiss?" Allen snickered. Chris threw the severed head at his brother. He stormed into the kitchen, grabbed a piece of toast, and retreated to his room before he was victim to anymore of his brother's cruel tricks.

"How many for the buffet?"

Megan quickly gathered the menus and crayons. She ushered the family to the closest free table, and scurried away before they could ask her to properly wipe down the table. It's a restaurant designed to be paradise for kids: expect a few crusted boogers with your fun, family experience.

She returned to the hostess station and leaned heavily on the counter. She just had to last until Friday: then she was home free. This job was shit; but, if she was being honest, it paid the bills. That was all an unemployed graduate student could ask for. She picked psychology because it was interesting. Little did she know it meant at least four more years of schooling just to be practicing. She could have been a high school counselor; but, after working at Freddy Fazzbear's for three years, Megan never wanted see another snot-nosed brat again. To her left, a toddler let out an ear-piercing shriek.

 _Never again._

"You know, if tomorrow wasn't your last day, I'd have to reprimand you for your poor attitude."

Tom sidled up to Megan carrying a new shipment of crayons. Megan moved away from the counter so he could restock the bin.

"Reprimand?" she repeated, "It only took six warnings for you to fire Jack."

"Yeah, yeah and now I've got two damaged spring suits. Don't remind me." In truth, Tom hadn't wanted to fire Jack. The man was a slob, but he was a slob with a family. Tom was empathetic, knowing how it felt to be unable to provide for them.

 _Don't you mean unable to save them?_ No. No, Tom knew he made the right decision in letting Jack go; and, while he was empathetic, the job came first. Over the past five years Jack managed to damage both the Fredbear and the Bonnie mascot costumes. Fredbear, no longer safe to wear, was now kept permanently on stage. Tom needed to call the mechanic to take a look at Bonnie. There were only a couple of frayed wires, but he wasn't taking any chances putting a new employee in the mascot. Besides, the animatronics were old; it was time for a tune-up anyway.

He'd see if the guy could come out on Monday.

Chris sat idly on the swing set during recess. He had managed to dig a rather impressive hole in the woodchips with his shoe. Other than that, he showed no interest in playing with or talking to the other children. His homeroom teacher had already cornered him before lunch to see if she could crack the mystery behind his gloom. Chris merely stared at her shoes, and shook his head when she asked if anything was wrong.

The local elementary school that Chris attended was part of a larger sprawling complex which housed elementary, middle, and high school students. The playground was safely nestled in the center of all three school; and, it was often a favorite past time for the younger students to watch in awe the high school students pass freely between classes. It was mystifying to watch them walk back and forth without forming a line, without teachers, and not holding hands with a buddy –well most of the time. Unfortunately the older students' freedom meant that the younger ones got to see the less than savory aspects of adolescence. Timmy's mother was very distraught that she had to explain that the shiny square wrappers older boys kept in their wallets were not in fact trading cards.

At the moment, Chris' position on the swing set gave him a perfect view of an alleyway between the high school main building and the gym. And what misfits should loiter in said alley other than Allen and his friends. Allen was currently "dating" a girl named Farrah. Chris knew her real name was Francis, but she introduced herself to everyone as Farrah, "Like the actress," she'd say. Her hair was jet black and frizzy; Chris wondered if she ever combed it. She must not, considering Allen's hand was tangled in her nappy locks while he attacked her face with his mouth.

 _"_ Gross," Chris muttered to himself.

Next to the couple was Farrah's brother, Frank. Frank was too busy smoking –what Chris thought was a cigarette –and laughing to pay any attention to the pair. He was sharing the cigarette with the last boy of the group, Nathan. Nathan was older than the other three, and Chris remembered his father saying something about 'held back.' Chris didn't like Nathan one bit. On any given day, Allen might decide to pumble Chris, but if Nathan was there, Chris was sure to get a worse beating. As if by his own miserable luck, Nathan happened to turn in Chris' direction. The two made eye contact: one sneered, the other gulped.

By the grace of God, the bell rang and Chris ran inside.


	7. Good Friday

_Happy Birthday to me_ , Chris hummed. In light of recent events, his special day seemed to be shaping up. Dad had pulled him out of school early to get ready for the party. He had also given Chris his present early: a brand new remote control race car. In the mail, Chris found a thick, red envelop addressed to him. He tore it open to find a birthday card sporting a colorful clown and balloons on the front. The contents of the card included a five dollar bill and a note which read as follows:

 _My dearest Chris,_

 _Happy birthday, angel. I hope your day is filled with joy, fun, and well wishes. Your sister and I are doing fine. I decided we needed a small girls-only vacation. Do not worry about us; worry about your school work! Your father told me you're having a birthday party at the Pizzeria. I'm so proud of you for conquering your fears. Perhaps – if we're able to –'Chelli and I will stop by to wish you a happy birthday. If not, I will give you a call later on tonight._

 _I love you, angel,_

 _Mom_

A smile slowly crept onto Chris' lips. His plan had worked! Mom and 'Chelli were coming to his birthday party! He looked at the clock. It was 3:30 p.m. now and the party started at 4:30. He only had to wait one hour. He waited for Dad to return from Allen's football practice, fidgeting excitedly all the while. Time seemed to stand still.

Finally, he heard the garage door open. He hopped up, gathered his shoes and ran to the door. He reached for the knob only to have the door flung open on him as Allen charged into the house.

"I told Farrah and the guys we'd go see Robocop tonight," Allen moaned, "I'm not backing out for the twerp's lame party."

"You said the movie doesn't start until seven," Dad retorted as he followed Allen into the house. "Your brother's party starts in thirty minutes. You can survive an hour and half with your brother, and then go to the movies. That way I'll know where you are; and, I know you won't be getting into trouble."

"I don't care if he comes," Chris pointed out.

"Well I do," Dad said ruffling Chris' hair, "Because it's family time. We haven't a lot of it lately, and I think it's time to change that."

Chris looked up at his father and smiled. His father returned a genuine, abet tired, smile of his own.

"Now if you're so worried about it, call them now, and have them meet us at the pizzeria. If we don't leave soon we're going to be late."

The three party-goers arrived at the restaurant right on time. The neon orange 'Welcome' sign had a faintly eerie glow in the fast fading daylight. Chris eagerly scanned the parking lot looking for any sign of his mother or sister. _Perhaps they are already inside_.

They walked into the restaurant, the familiar sights and smells brought back memories. Chris felt a knot forming in the pit of his stomach, but he pushed the negativity away. He wanted to show Mom how mature he could be. The same auburn-haired woman was still at the hostess station, except this time she was accompanied by a shorter, blonde whose bright smile only heightened Chris' mood.

"Hi," she chirped. "Welcome to Freddy Fazzbear's! How many?"

"We had reservations for a party: 'Chris'," Dad replied.

The blonde looked hesitantly at the brunette who wordlessly pointed at a paper of the counter, handed some menus to the blonde, and gave her a slight shove toward the party room. As they followed the hostess, Chris noted that the room looked almost exactly the same. On the stage, Bonnie, Fredbear, and Chica all stood playing their song. They were still creepy. But Chris was reminded of his plush Fredbear at home, and decided they weren't so bad. He scanned the restaurant once more. No sign of Mom. No sign of 'Chelli.

An hour went by. Chris spent some time playing in the arcade, and then Dad had sat him down to cut his cake. Mom and 'Chelli were nowhere to be seen. Had he missed them? Surely not. Another hour passed; and, having lost interest in games, Chris sat at the table closest to the door, waiting. A voice over the loud speaker said the restaurant was closing in one hour. The crowd had already begun to thin.

 _She's not coming. She lied. Allen was right…_ Chris thought back to the note bitterly. How could he have missed it? If she truly cared she would have called when he was there. She would have talked to him over the phone –not just sent a letter in the mail.

 _She doesn't love you. She lied to you._ Chris became angry at how easily he was duped. He balled up his shirt into his fists. _I hate her_ , he mused. _I hate her, I hate her –I hate them all._ Angry tears sprang into his eyes, and he started to beat his fist against his pant leg repeating the mantra over and over in his head.

He didn't notice the hostess slip past him toward the backroom with a concerned look on her face. He didn't see Dad disappear into the men's restroom. He didn't hear mechanized jingle when the door opened. And he didn't see Allen and his friends form an enclosed semi-circle around him.

"Wow, your brother really is a baby, isn't he?" Nathan snickered.

"Oh, God. I knew he couldn't make a full day without crying," Allen grumbled in embarrassment, "Lemme guess? One of them animatronics looked at you cross-eyed?"

Chris' only response was to glare at his brother. Farrah let out a high pitched giggle and mimed wiping away tears.

"Hey kid," Frank chimed in, "You ever gotten really close to one of those things?"

Nathan's face split into a sly smile, "Gee. He looks so sad… I think he wants to give Fredbear a hug."

The older boy lunged for Chris, grabbing his midsection before he could react. He kicked out, trying to hit something, anything. Farrah grabbed his right leg, Frank his left. Chris flailed his arms wildly before Allen pinned them to his chest. They began carrying him toward the stage. Fredbear and company grew larger by the second.

"No," he said hoarsely. "Let me go." He continued to struggle. He tried to scream, but he was paralyzed with terror by the time they reached the edge of the stage. Fredbear's eyed Chris like a tasty treat, his mouth audibly whirred open and closed. Chris tried once more to scream. All that came out was a soft whimper.

"Hey guys," Nathan said whilst still holding Chris, "I think he wants to give him a big kiss."

He clambered onto the stage with Chris in tow. Chris was now nose to bow tie with Fredbear. With a grunt, Nathan tried to lift Chris and make him eye level with the animatronic. Chris' fight or flight instincts finally kicked in. He began thrashing wildly. He reared back attempting to head-butt Nathan in the face. His head made contact with Nathan's face; and, Chris heard a sharp snap. Stars were forming in his vision, something wet and warm was matted in his hair. He pitched forward to try it again. Chris came up full force. Except this time his head made contact with something hard, something cold, and a hollow _thud_ resonated.

His vision swam. It was dark, but streams of light poured in around his peripherals. A cog wheel with a spring lock and key came into focus. Beyond the mechanism was a set of teeth; beyond that the stage and three smiling faces. His head was lodged in Fredbear's mouth. Chris tried desperately to pull his head out, but the bottom jaw was jammed making a faint ticking sound.

" _Please_ ," Chris breathed. The key slowly began to turn and the ticking sped up. Chris tried once more to free his trapped head: tears and snot streamed down his face.

" _PLEASE_ ," he screamed. The key wound faster.

He gave another blood curdling scream.

Then everything was silent.


	8. The Bite

_TO: Tomas Sigal_

 _MEMORANDUM: FINAL NOTICE OF BILL COLLECTION_

 _This is our final notice regarding the balance in account #: 8256 __

 _A total of $ 1, 598 is to be paid in full upon receipt on behalf of North Main Health System._

 _If the remaining balance described above is not received within 30 days, we reserve the right to withhold a portion of your earnings until the previously specified conditions are met. Please verify that the following employment information is still correct:_

Tom crumpled the notice and tossed it in the waste bin by his desk. He never intended let it get to this point: to be so overwhelmed. He'd done everything he possibly could've, hadn't he?

 _You could have saved them._

Tom pressed his thumbs into his temples trying to jar the thought out of his head. He'd played it over a million times: for himself, for the therapist, for the cops, and for the judge. The accident was not his fault.

 _You weren't paying attention, Tommy boy. Were you drinking, Tommy?_

He'd spent the past few years making up for it. Oh, yes he did. He spent countless hours at the Pizzeria, bending over backwards to get promoted so he could pay off the medical bills. When he wasn't at work, he volunteered at both the soup kitchen and the local boys' home. Hell, he even dragged his sorry ass to Mass every Sunday. He didn't really believe in God anymore; but, Donna had. And maybe if he believed God would forgive him, she would forgive him, and, eventually, he could forgive himself.

 _You'll never do that. Because of you, they're dead, Tommy boy. Because you're so damn selfish, you just had to have one more –_

"Piss off," Tom muttered into his hands.

"Gee, I just came to say goodbye, but I can take a hint."

Tom turned to find Megan standing in the door way to his office, purse under one arm, and her old uniform under the other.

"Not –not you. Sorry," he stuttered, "I was… talking to myself."

"Hmm. Well I was going to burn this." She held up the uniform. "But maybe now I'll put on a little straw doll with a picture of my face, and she can be your new work buddy."

Tom gave her an exasperated look. He could tolerate Megan's sarcasm, but only to a point. More often than not she was borderline cruel; and, Tom had long lost the will to try to improve upon her personality flaws. He wasn't going to miss this girl on staff. And with his current mood, he just wanted her out of his office.

"Ha," he said robotically, "I'm sure the world of psychology shall thrive from your humor. Why don't I walk you out? I have to make sure your locker's been cleaned out anyway."

He followed Megan out into the hallway, locking his office behind him out of force of habit. As they started walking toward the front of the restaurant, Tom felt like he was in a fog. Physically, he was present walking alongside Megan. Mentally, he was reliving that night, walking out of that Bar & Grill with his wife and son for the last time.

About halfway down the hall, the new blonde hostess stepped out of the employee break room gathering her coat and purse. She looked mildly off-put; and, Megan picked up the scent of fresh meat.

"What's up, buttercup?" she said.

The girl looked at Megan with wide doe-eyes. "There's some kid out there beating himself up. It's kind of weird."

"Awe, hey," Megan cooed, "Cheer up, buttercup. It's only day one. You haven't gotten to the exciting part of cleaning vomit off the floor."

Tom elbowed her sharply in the ribs. As it was he was already short on staff, and he didn't need Megan scaring off the newbie.

"Ignore her," he told the blonde, "She has a poor sense of humor and a poor attitude about life. I'm sure you'll do just fine as our new hostess-"

Tom's placating sentiment was cut short by a child's ear-splitting scream. He felt his stomach drop. _Timmy_ , he thought. He felt his feet move on their own accord; and, before he could process it, Tom was running toward the origin of the scream.

Just as he past the threshold of the party room, he heard a loud _crack_ like a gunshot, followed by a muted _crunch_ , and the _plip-plop_ of falling liquid. His momentum carried him half-way through the room before he skidded to a stop, and took in the scene before him.

Four teenagers –far older than the average clientele –stood on the main stage, their figures bathed in blue and yellow light. The three whose expressions he could see were mortified. The fourth's back was facing him. He appeared to be holding something –no someone –standing in a pool of _blood_.

 _Please, God no. Not again._

Tom turned to see Megan and the new girl 50 paces behind him gaping at the stage.

"Call the police," he screamed shrilly. The four teens turned at the sound of his voice. Then everything happened at once.

The biggest boy leapt off the stage sprinting for the exit. Tom met him half-way, tackled him to the ground, and punched him once in the head for good measure. Two of the other teens took the opportunity to bolt past Tom and the boy. Megan pulled the nearest fire alarm. The new hostess raced to the phone behind her station. The fourth teen crumpled into a heap on the stage screaming and pulling at his hair. A man raced out of the restrooms and made a frantic leap for the stage where the body of a young boy hung limp in the jaws of Fredbear.

The police arrived a full 30 minutes later. While they waited, the man –who Tom now identified as the boy's father –begged and pleaded with the three staff members to free his son's body. Tom tried to explain as calmly and coherently as he could that he wasn't sure how best to pry the animatronic's mouth open; and, since it was now a crime scene, he couldn't do anything until the police arrived.

Allen sat in the corner silently crying, ignored by his father who Megan was trying desperately to keep calm. Tom paced back and forth at the foot of the stage, until the forensic examiner firmly told him to stop tracking through the evidence. The paramedics were eventually able to cut through the animatronics lower jaw, and place a sheet over the mangled child much to everyone's relief.

About an hour passed before a detective began taking official witness statements. He started with Tom who recounted all he knew from the malfunctioning spring animatronics to when he arrived on scene. He then moved onto Allen.

"My name's Detective Perez. You want to tell me what happened here tonight, son," the detective asked gruffly. Allen continued to stare at his shoes, so Perez kneeled down in front of the boy and tried a different approach. "What's your name?"

"Allen."

"Do you know that boy up there Allen?"

He nodded slowly, "He's my brother."

"Do you know who did this to him?"

"My… my –me and my friends."

"Did you put him inside that robot?"

"No… no –but I…"

"You what, Allen?"

"I helped them bring him on-stage." Allen burst into tears all over again.

"Okay. Do you know the young man we have in custody? Is he your friend?"

"Yes…. His name's Nathan."

"Allen, what did Nathan do?"

"He said… my brother wanted to… to kiss… Fredbear. He put him on the stage."

"How many of you were there, Allen?"Allen held up four fingers. Perez nodded and made a note on his pad.

"Okay, Allen. We're going to have to take you down to the station. Ask you a few more questions," He motioned to one of the uniformed officers. " I'm going to go talk to your father now, okay?" Allen nodded and Perez left to go talk to Dad.

"Hello, sir. I'm sorry for your loss," Perez placed a comforting hand on the man's shoulder. The man shrugged it off. "Would you kindly tell me your name, sir?"

"Jim. Jim Douglas."

"Is that your son on the stage, Mr. Douglas?"

"Yes. His name is Chris. Christopher Michael Douglas."

"Okay." Perez scribbled the information down in the notepad as Jim spoke, "And, is this your other son in the corner over here-" He motioned over to where the officer was hauling Allen off the floor.

"He's _not_ my son! My son would never hurt his brother. Let alone-" He broke down into gasping sobs and Megan tried once more to sooth the man.

"I'm sorry," Allen choked out from afar, "Dad, I'm so _sorry_."

"No. You're not –He's not… my son."

Tom looked from grieving father to son, his own heart torn. He mentioned to one of the officers that he was heading back to his office. Once there, Tom sat with his head in his hands and let out a choked sob.

 _That's three now, Tommy boy._


	9. Epilogue

_One little, two little, three little Indians…_

Tom awoke with a jolt. The clock read 5:00 a.m. He had only gotten back to his apartment and into bed about four hours ago, after the police had released the remaining witnesses from the pizzeria. He had tasked himself with closing up when everyone else left. Most of the blood had been cleaned off the stage, but a dark stain remained. Fredbear's muzzle was a hodgepodge of wires, sheared metal, blood and what Tom assumed was either hair or tissue. The animatronic's eyes followed Tom as he walked about the restaurant. For not the first time, Tom felt like the machine was staring into his soul. Before he left, Tom threw a blue tarp he found out back over the bear: nobody needed to see that when they came in on Monday.

He rolled over pulling the covers over his head.

 _Four little, five little, six little Indians…_

Tom opened his eyes again. He swore he heard a little kid singing. None of the neighbors had kids that he knew of; and, if they did, it was far too late for anyone to be awake. Mostly likely it was his imagination. Tom closed eyes, and drifted off.

 _Four little boys going out to sea…_

There it was again. Tom peaked out from under the covers. Why was his bedroom door open? He always slept with it closed. He crawled out from his warm shelter and padded over to the door. Just as he was about to close it, he heard what sounded like soft breathing on the other side. Tom paused. He opened the door just enough to peer into the darkness, and began reaching for the hall light switch.

 _A red herring swallowed one and then there were three._

Tom jumped and hit the switch as fast as he could. Light flooded the short hallway. Nothing. Tom stepped out and looked into the living room. Nothing seemed out of place.

 _Three little boys walking in the Zoo…_

It was coming from his bedroom. Tom hesitated before backing into the kitchen to get a knife. It sounded all too real to be his imagination. It sounded like a kid, but for all he knew it could be a squatter, some lunatic. Tonight he'd seen what people are capable of, even children. Tom slowly made his way back to the bedroom, knife at the ready. He pushed the door open the rest of the way, and surveyed the room.

 _A big bear hugged one and then there were two._

The closet door bowed as if someone had pushed on it. Tom grabbed hold of the knob with one hand, and held the knife at chest level in the other. He counted to three and flung open the door: shirts, pants, tie rack, shoes. That was it. He closed the door firmly again.

 _Two little boys sitting in the sun…_

The limerick echoed out of the adjoined bathroom. Tom shuffled over. He kicked the already ajar door open and met the glaze of his own reflection in the small, grimy vanity mirror.

 _One got frizzled up and then there was one…_

Tom angled himself to face the shower while maintaining the safety of the door-jam between him and small bathroom. He braced himself, reached for the tub, and ripped open the shower curtain. Nothing: absolutely nothing. Tom caught sight of himself hugging the door-jam in the mirror. This was ridiculous. It was all in his head.

 _One little boy left all alone…_

"Shut up," he snarled. Tom slammed the bathroom door closed, stomped over to bedroom door, hit the light, and slammed that door as well. He threw the knife down on nightstand, then crawled back underneath the covers. He settled on his back, and closed his eyes in hopes of just a few more hours of sleep.

"He went and hung himself…"

Tom sat bolt upright when he heard the voice in his ear. At the foot of his bed, stood a little boy, ashen grey with a blood stained shirt and pants. In his left hand he held Tom's kitchen knife: in the right, a plush teddy bear with a purple nose. His head appeared to be split open, the right side crushed: bone, hair, and brain matter blended as one. His one good eye glared at Tom. He spoke again in a high clear voice.

"…and then there were none."

Tom blinked and he was gone.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Thank you to everyone who has been following this story! I know this is the Epilogue, but the tale is far from over... If you liked "The Monsters Are Real []" keep an eye out for the sequel, "I Once Tried to Fight the Devil with a Sword."

Also, if you want to read the poem which inspired the titles for these pieces, follow the link: /P6t11X-1R


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